Lemonade
by ewells4
Summary: A post-Season 5 story. WARNING: This story plays off of some of the Season 6 promos, so it may contain spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, it's been a while . . . . I've been focused on other pursuits and like most of us, I wasn't feeling particularly inspired by the recent promos. All I can say is Ugh, Rookie Blue. Just Ugh.**

 **So I got this idea, and darn it, I felt compelled to write it up. It's a bit of a "fix-it." The story is told in two chapters, which I'm posting together. I only separated them to make for an easier read. It's loosely based off of a few of the promos-not all of them because I don't think I've seen them all. Keep your chin up, everyone, and thanks so much for reading and for being so amazing!**

* * *

"How did he tell you?"

Shaking her head in disgust, Andy looked down at the kitchen island that separated her from Traci. The napkin she'd been shredding lay in a tattered heap beneath her hands, which had since taken to drumming themselves nervously against the granite counter top. "We were working a case together, and I could tell something was 'off' with him, Trace. He didn't seem ready to talk about it, though, and I was trying not to push. So nothing all day and then finally in the car on the way back to the station he dropped it on me." With her hands, she simulated a small explosion, tossing the napkin shreds into the air for effect.

Traci waved her along impatiently. "How did he say it?"

"'McNally, we need to talk,'" Andy recounted, rolling her eyes. "That alone got my attention because how often does Sam actually _ask_ to talk about something?"

"Once in a decade?"

"Exactly. So I knew it was something big. I thought maybe he wanted to talk about the Santana investigation or something that had happened with his family." She drew in a breath, searching for the fortitude she needed to continue. "I could tell he was nervous, and that made it so much worse. Finally, he just said, 'Marlo's pregnant,' which was pretty much the last thing I'd expected to come out of his mouth. I guess he could see that I was confused because he added, 'She says it's mine.'"

Closing her eyes, Traci groaned. "That's rough. I guess there's no real way to sugar coat a thing like that."

"No, there's not," Andy agreed bitterly. "How do you tactfully tell your current girlfriend that your ex is having your baby?" She pressed both hands firmly against the counter, hoping that the solid surface might somehow ground her. "I can't believe this is happening. I mean, it's straight-up soap opera, right? In real life, this is _not_ the norm."

"Andy, I'm really sorry. Nothing about this is fair—to either of you. He must've been so nervous about how you'd react."

"I get that. I really do. But can you believe he waited almost an entire day to tell me? She cornered him outside of the Penny the night I got attacked, and he kept it to himself."

"You do realize he probably wanted to tell you but held off because of the attack?"

"I do. And I even get that this is as much of a shock to him as it is to me. Right now, though, I just really need to wallow and be angry on my own terms."

Traci nodded in understanding. "Then, that's what you should do. Take some time and figure out how you feel about all of this."

"And then what happens? I stand by and watch my boyfriend having a baby with another woman?" She drove one index finger into the counter for emphasis. " _Or_ do we just call it quits? That way he can go off and raise a family with Marlo."

"Is that what you think he wants?"

"I have no idea what he wants," Andy muttered. Throwing her hands into the air, she felt the irrepressible strains of unchecked hysteria lapping at her insides, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she crumbled into a pathetic heap of sniffles and sobs. "I know what _I_ want, though."

"Which is?" Traci asked as she took out a bottle of wine and two glasses from a nearby cabinet.

"I want Marlo _not_ to be pregnant with Sam's baby. I want to know that I'll be the only woman who ever has a baby with him. I want our first child to be ours together. And I want to be standing here right now having any conversation but this one."

"I know you do," Traci said sympathetically. "This is an impossible situation. Are you gonna talk to him?"

"I can't even look at Sam right now, let alone talk to him. All I see are these images of him with Marlo, and it's killing me. I spent a long time watching him with her and trying to be cool about it. Now it's like it's happening all over again." Clutching her stomach, she slumped forward. "I feel nauseous."

"Here," Traci said, foisting a glass of red wine at her. "Take this and go sit down on the couch. Dex has Leo tonight, which means we have the place to ourselves. So we're ordering takeout, cracking open a pint of ice cream and planting our butts firmly on the couch until one or both of us passes out."

"You don't have to do that . . . ." Andy responded weakly, all the while taking the glass from Traci as she'd been instructed. With the doleful eyes of a woman who'd only recently been introduced to an unpleasant, new reality, she allowed herself to be ushered toward the couch.

"You're right. I don't have to do it. I _want_ to do it," Traci assured her. "There's no way I'm letting you go home alone tonight."

As she settled herself on one end of the couch, Andy asked, "What would you do?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask me that. This is one crazy situation, and I'm not sure there's a right way to handle it. Honestly, I don't know what I'd do if I were in your shoes."

"Great. Thanks," Andy laughed dryly.

"Well, look at it this way. What I'd do and what you should do are two separate things. My relationship with Steve—if you can even call it that—is completely different from what you have with Sam. You've put each other through a lot of stuff over the years and whether that speaks to your ability to make something like this work, I couldn't say for sure. It's gotta count for something, though. Would an ordinary couple have the resolve to make something like this work? Probably not. But you and Sam might."

"So you're saying because we've already been through such hell together, we should be able to handle this, too?"

"Honestly, I don't know, but you're both much stronger than you were three or four years ago, and maybe that means you have what it takes to get through this. What if Fate delivered this particular hurdle to your doorstep because it knows you two can handle it?"

"Do you want to know what I think?" Andy demanded suddenly. Without waiting for an answer, she declared, "Fate sucks. We've been through enough already, and maybe this is just one hurdle too many. Enough is enough. That's the message I have for Fate or whoever comes up with this crap."

"What about Sam? How does he feel about all of this?"

"He wants to talk, and I'm not ready," she said firmly. "I'm not ready to discuss how we can make this work, and I'm definitely not ready to hear him telling me we're finished."

"I doubt you'd ever hear the latter from him," Traci reflected as she sipped her wine. "I don't care what hurdles come his way, Sam Swarek won't stop loving you."

"But does it follow that he'll still want to be with me now that Marlo's having his baby? Maybe it's too impractical."

"When he told you, did he give you any indication about what he was thinking?"

"I didn't give him a chance. We got back to the station, and I took off." With a shrug, she admitted, "Maybe I should have stayed to discuss it with him, but I was just so angry. All I could think about was getting out of there."

"I think leaving was probably a fairly normal reaction given those circumstances."

" _Normal_ ," Andy murmured cynically. "Absolutely none of this is normal. I mean, who has issues like these? Stuff like this . . . it's not normal and it's not fair. I can't help but feel like so many people get handed these nice, heaping plates of happiness while Sam and I have to earn every scrap we get."

"Which is why your message to fate is 'enough is enough," Traci concluded, smiling indulgently at Andy.

"Exactly. Thank you, Fate, but I've had enough."

* * *

Sam dropped his keys on the counter, sending them skittering across the smooth surface with a ferocious indifference. Their jagged metal edges scraped across the cold stone, gaining momentum until finally, they flew off into the air, collided with the refrigerator and fell to the ground. Having already moved past the kitchen, he barely registered the fall. Like everything else in his world, the keys hardly mattered. To Sam, there was only one thing that mattered—one _person_ —and without her, he wasn't sure he'd ever truly care about anything again. Hours of driving around the city after she left had presented him with that one pitiable truth.

"Damn it," he growled. With pugilistic force, he rammed his foot against the couch, propelling it into an unsuspecting side table and nearly upsetting a lamp. The lamp shimmied and swayed but somehow managed to remain upright in spite of the blow.

With the stamina of a deflated balloon, Sam sank down into the arm chair beside the couch. How had he let this happen? More importantly, _why_ had it happened? Happiness, always so elusive for Sam, had been within reach and in a move that probably shouldn't have surprised him, the duplicitous hands of Fate had snatched it away from him. After all, it had happened before—more than once, in fact.

Sam ran a desperate hand through his hair, clutching at the ends as he tried not to collapse beneath the weight of his regret. He regretted that he'd ever started a relationship with Marlo when he knew he was still in love with Andy. He regretted that he'd allowed his unfulfilling relationship with Marlo to carry on as long as it had. He regretted that he hadn't told Andy how he felt sooner.

Now, here he was alone, left with nothing except the prospect of being tied to Marlo and their baby for the rest of his life. He couldn't even begin to fathom how he was going to handle any of it without Andy. She gave him a tomorrow, and without her, his life stretched ahead of him like a long, dull processional of lackluster days and painful nights.

Suddenly, this ugly, new existence was his future, and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. How in hell had everything changed in just two days? As Sam looked around his living room, a daunting sadness settled in around him, manifesting itself in one small, lifeless groan. Dropping his head back against the chair, he shut his eyes. With that one brief glance around the room, he'd seen too much. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, tiny pieces of Andy were scattered everywhere. If she didn't come back, they'd merely be reminders of what he'd had before time suddenly ground to a halt and his life stopped moving forward.

So many fragments of her were there with him. Andy's favorite grey T-shirt rested in a crumpled heap atop the coffee table—a messy reminder that when she'd tugged it over her head and tossed it aside, maintaining a tidy living space had been the last thing on either of their minds. If he'd only realized that _that_ time could potentially be one of the last that they shared together, he might have insisted that they linger on the couch a while longer. If he'd known what the future held, he probably would have tried to keep her there forever.

And it wasn't just the T-shirt. Beside it in the small dish on the coffee table, there were several of those toffee candies Andy liked so much. Personally, Sam didn't care for them, but they'd always left her mouth tasting like syrup and her breath smelling like caramel, and _that_ was something he liked very much. Leaning forward, he slipped one out of the dish and popped it into his mouth. As it began to dissolve against his tongue, he closed his eyes again and tried to make himself believe she was sitting next to him.

Even the blanket on the back of his chair had been folded up and left there by her because, as she explained, his apartment always felt like an ice house (and just to be clear, she wasn't talking about one of the nice ones with a space heater inside). As soon as they'd sit down in the living room to relax, she'd huddle up beneath the blanket and insist that he join her, claiming that she needed his body heat to help her warm up. How many times had he felt the sweat beading on the back of his neck as she pulled the blanket tightly around them and pressed herself into his chest for warmth, declaring that finally, she was _beginning_ to warm up? At some point it had occurred to Sam that maybe Andy just wanted to be held by him. If that were true, he wondered that she didn't just ask for what she really wanted. Then again, he could have turned up the heat in his apartment, too, but he never did.

Now, as Sam relaxed against the back of the chair again, he found that if he dropped his head to the right, he could just make out the scent of Andy's vanilla body lotion on the blanket. It was enough to soothe his disheveled nerves. The day had been long, and he was so tired . . . . He couldn't even begin to think about sleeping in his bed or even on the couch—not without her. So if sleep overtook him, it was going to happen in the chair. With a groggy determination, he admonished himself not to move a single muscle for fear that he might lose Andy's scent. And that was all that was keeping him going at present because when it was gone, he was pretty sure he'd never have it back again.

* * *

"Hey, man," Oliver said carefully, watching as Sam entered the Staff Sergeant's office and pushed the door closed with an apathetic flick of his wrist. "How're you holding up?"

Sam dropped into the chair across from Oliver. "I'll assume that's a rhetorical question."

"Have you been getting much sleep, Brother?"

"Plenty," Sam informed him with a rueful smile. "I think it was an hour last night and, ah, forty-five minutes the night before that."

"McNally still won't talk to you, huh?"

"Won't talk to me . . . hardly looks at me . . . ."

"It's only been four days," Oliver reminded him. "How about Marlo? Have you spoken to her?"

"No," Sam said firmly, feeling defensive at the suggestion that he should be thinking about something other than his up-ended relationship with Andy. He was tired. He was emotionally spent. Thinking about Marlo and the bomb she'd dropped on him was more than he could handle. "Why would I talk to Marlo?"

"Well, there's the obvious . . . . Don't you think you need to talk about how all of this is going to work?"

"I haven't seen Marlo since she cornered me in the parking lot, if that answers your question. Right now, she's not my primary concern. Marlo's had months to adjust to this," Sam insisted in a tone that was surly, at best. "It's McNally I'm worried about."

Oliver exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair. "I honestly don't know how you're handling this, Sammy. A lesser man would be falling apart right now."

"And a better man wouldn't have screwed up his life in the first place." For perhaps the hundredth time that week, Sam fought against the memory of the night Marlo had told him about the pregnancy. He'd been stunned by her admission, incapable of believing it was anything other than a bad joke. When he quickly realized she wasn't kidding, he'd waited for the "benevolent but"—a singular utterance that would absolve him of any responsibility for creating a child with a woman who was not Andy McNally. When Marlo offered no such addendum, he'd reached the inevitable conclusion that she must feel certain that he was the father. And that meant he probably was. As soon as that had all been neatly compartmentalized in his mind, Sam's immediate thought had been Andy. He was going to lose her.

"I can't lose her, Oliver," he muttered as he leaned forward and dropped his face into his hands. "What should I do, man?"

"Just give her time. This is McNally. She loves you."

"Time," Sam scoffed as he raised his head to look across the desk at Oliver. "And you think she'll come around. Are you sure she won't just take off?"

Oliver tapped his fingers against the desktop. "She might," he conceded. "But if any woman is going to stick with you through a thing like this, it's McNally. No one loves you the way she does."

Sam sighed. "So you think I should just back off for now?"

"Now, I didn't say that. You've got to let her know that no matter what, you're still in this. She needs to feel like you still want to be with her. You do still want to be with her, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Sam snapped. "I love her."

"Then just make sure she knows that."

"Easier said than done," Sam grumbled.

"I didn't say it would be easy. You'll probably have a lot of doors slammed in your face before she ever comes around and agrees to let you back in. Just give her the time she needs to sort it all out, and when she's ready to listen, you make sure she knows that she is, and will always be, a priority in your life."

"So you think she'll eventually come back?"

"I don't know, Brother, but for your sake, I hope like hell she does because you don't do well when she's not in your life."

* * *

"You can't avoid him forever," Chloe said from the desk adjacent to Andy's. "I mean, you could, but it would be super awkward."

"We're working," Andy reminded her through gritted teeth. "Besides, what am I supposed to do? I'm not ready to talk about it."

"It's been a week. When do you think you'll be ready?"

"I haven't figured that out yet. It's not exactly a conversation I'm dying to have." Andy looked down at the report on the desk in front of her, hoping Chloe would take the hint and stop needling her about Sam.

"He's watching you, you know . . . ."

"I know."

"He's always watching you," Chloe informed her. "Probably drives by your place at night, too, if I had to guess."

"I don't care," Andy insisted. "And stop looking up at his office. He'll know we're talking about him."

"Well, I think it's sweet. He misses you."

"It's not sweet," Andy said abruptly. "He's having a baby with another woman. That is not sweet."

Undeterred by the venom in Andy's statement, Chloe said, "That's not the sweet part. It's sweet that he so obviously misses the connection you two have."

"Should've thought about that before he made a baby with someone else . . . ."

"Come on, Andy. Things happen. You know that if it were up to Swarek, he wouldn't have chosen this either."

"He did choose," Andy hissed. "He chose to be with Marlo instead of me, and now he's going to be tied to her for the rest of his life. It's all a very permanent reminder of a time I'd rather forget."

"Then maybe you should transfer."

Andy narrowed her eyes at Chloe. "You think I should leave?" she asked, realizing with some surprise that leaving was the furthest thing from her mind. In fact, she hadn't even considered it. "I'm not doing that anymore."

"Then talk to Swarek."

"Nope. Not ready yet."

"Just talk to him," Chloe groaned, dropping her head to the desk in mock frustration.

"And then what?"

"Well, one of two things will happen. Either you'll end the relationship for good or you'll agree to try and work through this together. You can't stay in limbo forever, Andy."

"I like limbo. What's wrong with limbo?"

"What's wrong is that it can't last. You're just trying to avoid getting hurt any more than you already have been. The thing is, eventually, something is going to happen, and when it does, it _will_ hurt. You can choose to wait for that to come along or face it head on right now."

"What if it's Door Number One and the answer is that we're done? I don't think I'm ready for that kind of finality."

"Then, tell him that. You need to have this discussion with Swarek."

"Maybe," Andy responded hesitantly. "Has anyone ever told you that you're annoyingly persistent?"

"Sure. It's one of my best qualities," Chloe chirped.

"So is he still watching us?"

* * *

One week, five hours and thirty minutes, Sam noted as he looked at the clock on his stove. That's how long it had been since he'd spent any meaningful time in Andy's presence. Other than a few abbreviated conversations about work-related issues, she'd barely spoken to him.

He'd expected the separation to be bad. He'd expected to feel empty and alone. But this was beyond any pain he could've imagined. The distance was literally killing him. He wasn't getting any sleep, he didn't feel like eating, and he had run out of beer in his refrigerator.

When the knock finally came, Sam almost didn't hear it. It came in the form of two muffled thumps that were barely distinguishable for what they were. He heard them and froze, waiting for confirmation. At length, he heard two more knocks—this time, slightly more distinct but still uncertain in their delivery. Crossing the room quickly, he reminded himself that it could be anyone. Instinctively, however, he knew who was on the other side of his door.

At the sight of Andy on his doorstep, Sam tried to remain calm. He certainly hoped he didn't look as addled as he felt.

"Hi," she said weakly as she studied him intently from her side of the door.

Stepping back to give her the space he assumed she needed, he asked, "Are you coming in?"

When she nodded slowly and crossed the threshold, he resigned himself to the fact that one way or another, he was about to find out whether Andy McNally was going to be a part of his future. Of course, before they even got to that point, he expected a long, emotional conversation that was liable to leave them both feeling raw and exposed. He expected to hear how much she resented him for what he'd done to them. He even expected her to say she hated him. Expectations could be tricky things, though, and as he watched her enter his apartment, fully expecting that she would slip past him and settle herself on the couch or at the table, she shocked him by walking straight into him and wrapping her arms around his neck. Burying her face against him, she simply stuck. That was the only word Sam knew to describe it. In an instant, his arms were around her, and Sam's only problem was that he couldn't tighten them enough.

It wasn't at all what he'd expected her to do, but thankfully, it was what he most needed from her. Her scent was overpowering, and she felt amazing. He'd missed how good she felt in his arms. To Sam, she often seemed so soft and fragile, but at the same time, there was also an incredible strength about her that fascinated him.

"Come sit down," he whispered into her hair, nudging her toward the couch. She didn't fight him on it and seemed content to let him guide her toward the middle cushion instead of insisting on sitting at opposite ends of the couch. That's when Sam knew they had a chance, even if she couldn't see it yet.

"I'm glad you came over," he said, feeling clunky and awkward but determined. "I'm not sure what it means, but I like that you're here."

She looked at him sadly. "I'm not sure what it means either. I'm not okay with any of this—not by a long shot—but I wanted to see you." Sighing heavily, she asked, "Have you talked to Marlo?"

"Not since that night in the parking lot. But McNally," he said, taking one of her hands to emphasize his point, "I don't want to talk about her. Right now, this is about us."

"Sam, you're having a _baby_ with her. It's not just about us anymore. It's never going to be about us again." As much as he'd been thinking those same thoughts for the past week, hearing her say them drove a knife straight into his heart. Seeing the wounded look in Andy's eyes, pushed it even deeper.

"Sam, I'm mad, sad, angry . . . . I just feel _sick_. And not to minimize what you're going through, but I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with all of this. This isn't the way it's supposed to be happening. This isn't the future I want."

"It's not what I want either. Do you think this is the way I pictured our lives together?"

"I don't know what you've pictured. We've never really talked about it. But it hardly matters now anyway because no matter what either of us saw, we're not going to get it."

"McNally, it still matters," he said, feeling the heat rising within him. "I want all of that with you—kids, a dog, a house, a family. And I'm sorry about Marlo's announcement, but it doesn't change the fact that I want my future to be with _you_."

"I wanted it, too," she said solemnly. "But no matter what happens now, it won't be special. You'll have gone through it all with her first."

"We can still have _our_ first kid together," he insisted. "It will _still_ be special. Our baby will be special no matter when it comes into the world."

When she didn't respond, his voice grew raspy as he repeated himself, "It _will_ be special."

In a sad monotone, she said, "I just feel like so many other people get to be happy and we have to keep earning our happiness. This is not a normal situation, Sam. The odds of us surviving something like this are pretty bad."

"We have to try," he told her, feeling breathless and flattened.

"Why? Why do you want to try?" she demanded.

"Because I love you, and I need you with me. I know I'm asking a lot here, and it's not fair to you. But I'm doing it anyway because for me, there's no future that doesn't have you in it."

He could tell from her expression that she was softening. _Thankfully_ , she was softening. "Sam, you're having a baby with Marlo. It hurts. It really, really hurts. Not just because it's happening but because of who it is."

"Why does it matter who it is?"

"Sam," she said impatiently, "you know what I mean."

"McNally, I promise you, I have no idea what you mean."

"She _replaced_ me," Andy said sharply, biting off each word as it left her mouth. "And even when I was back—I was right here—you chose to stay with her. Now, if we somehow manage to push past all of this and stay together, I'll always have a reminder of that time. It's not just the baby. It's Marlo, too. She'll be with us for the rest of our lives."

"I never chose her over you," he said forcefully. "Marlo just . . . happened. Nothing about that relationship was right because it wasn't with you. I didn't love her." Sam raked a hand across his face. He didn't know how else to reassure her. He hoped she believed him when he said it, and even if she didn't, he hoped she'd give him the chance to show her how much he meant it.

"Sam, I love you—so much. For me, you've always been it," she said simply. "But this is something that I just don't feel equipped to handle. I can't stand by and watch you raise a child with Marlo. The whole idea feels lonely and pathetic to me."

"I'm not asking you to sit back and watch. I want you there. There's no way I can do this without you."

"I doubt Marlo would be okay with that. I'm sure the last thing she wants is to co-parent a child with another couple."

"It's the reality of the situation," Sam said with conviction, "and it's the only way I'm doing it."

"That's an easy thing for you to say, but all I keep seeing is you, Marlo and a baby with me on the sidelines waiting for the leftovers."

"Andy, I'm never leaving you behind. If you're willing to try, you're coming with me wherever this goes. I need you with me."

After that she lapsed into silence, and Sam figured she was thinking. Hoping that he'd said enough to convince her, he decided to ride out the silence and wait for a response. In truth, he was prepared to give her almost anything she wanted if it meant she was willing to stay and fight for them.

When she finally spoke, the hollowness in her voice nearly broke him, but beneath it, there was a tiny sliver of hope as she said, "I'll try."

"You'll try?"

"Yes. But I'm not making any promises."

"It's not a 'no,'" he pointed out.

"It's not a 'yes' either," she reminded him. "It's a 'we'll see what happens.'"

At length, Andy yawned and pushed herself up from the couch, surprising Sam when she said, "Time for bed. I'm exhausted."

"You're staying?"

"I said I wanted to try. This seems like a good place to start. Unless you don't want . . . ." she added hastily.

"No," he responded before she could rethink the idea and retract her offer. "I want you here with me tonight. There's never going to be a time when I don't want you here."

"Then, let's go to bed. I'm really tired." She gave him a small half-smile, and in her eyes he could see that she was as exhausted as he was.

As Andy wandered down the hallway to his bedroom, Sam could almost convince himself that the past week hadn't happened. But it had, and that meant there were fresh wounds that needed dressing. Some scars would be left behind, too, and there would undoubtedly be more discussions like the one they'd just had.

When he walked into his bedroom, Andy was already in bed with her back to him. Feeling mildly apprehensive, he approached the bed, wondering if he should offer to sleep on the couch. She must have sensed his hesitation because she looked over her shoulder at him and said, "Sam, hurry up. I'm cold."

Crawling into bed, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. "You're not cold," he whispered as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"No, I'm not. I just wanted you to hold me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

* * *

"Hey, McNally."

Andy bristled, slowly lifting her eyes from the file she'd been reviewing. "Marlo." The greeting was simple, undemonstrative and succinct, which was the most Andy felt the other woman could expect from her given the circumstances.

Marlo looked around the room uncertainly. "You're working up here in the D's office today?"

"I am," Andy confirmed, sounding a bit terse in spite of a controlled attempt to be cordial. "Were you looking for something?" _Or someone_ , she added silently as she diverted her eyes from the rather prominent baby bulge beneath Marlo's tunic.

Marlo shrugged, giving away nothing from behind her impassive façade. "Not really. I'm here to help out with the Stevenson investigation."

Andy glanced down at the Stevenson file on the desk in front of her. "I'm pretty sure we've got that one covered."

"Well, someone must've thought you guys could use a hand."

"So you just popped right over to help out. How nice of you."

"McNally, this wasn't my choice. I got the call, and now I'm following the orders I was given."

"Seems like a waste of resources to send over someone from Intelligence to work a burglary case . . . ."

"Not when you consider that the Stevensons have several prominent city officials living in their neighborhood. It's amazing how fast a case rises to the top of the pile when there's a burglary across the street from the Mayor's house."

"So they asked you to help move things along," Andy said dryly. "Lucky us."

Scanning the empty office, Marlo asked, "Are Sam and Traci around? I need them to brief me on what's been done so far in the case."

"They went up to Kingston to interview an inmate with connections to a suspect." Sighing, she added, "I can bring you up-to-speed if you want."

Marlo nodded, pulling out a chair and easing down into it. As she adjusted herself in the chair, the discomfort showed on her face and for the first time, Andy noticed a tiny crack in Marlo's normally stoic demeanor. A slight grimace and a quick rotation of her shoulders, however, and Marlo was once again composed.

Andy eyed her warily. "Are you okay, Marlo?"

"Yeah. I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping well for the past few weeks."

"Well, you look good," Andy told her, not even convincing herself with the compliment. She knew it was a feeble attempt at being supportive, but it was the best she could do considering that Marlo's baby was one-half Sam.

"McNally, if you tell me I'm glowing, so help me . . . ."

"Fine. You look tired, okay? Is that better?"

Marlo smiled tightly. "At least it's honest. Have you ever had acne on your scalp?"

"I, um, no?"

"Well, I have it and I can assure you, it's disgusting. Then there's the acid reflux and indigestion that almost never go away, which is only slightly worse than having fingers and toes swollen to the size of sausages by the time I get out of work every day. And these leg cramps keep waking me up in the middle of the night because Mother Nature is just cruel enough to want me to look _and_ feel exhausted all the time. Of course, the very best part," she uttered with a cynical laugh, "is that I've gained thirty-five pounds in seven months. Even my sweat pants are tight. I'm a wreck, and I really wish everyone would just be honest about it."

"You're not a wreck," Andy said, feeling mildly charitable after hearing Marlo's list of pregnancy grievances. "You're just pregnant. And I assume all of those things you just mentioned mean that you're growing a healthy baby inside of you."

"That's what my doctors keep telling me." She seemed to hesitate but finally said, "I hope you realize I didn't mean to cause trouble for you and Sam. I know it's been hard on both of you."

"Sam and I are fine," Andy told her with a confidence that she didn't always feel. Most of the time, she believed what she'd just told Marlo, but there were still moments when she doubted their ability to make the relationship work.

"You probably won't believe this, but I worried about how the news was going to disrupt his life. I even considered not telling him at all."

"Keeping it from him wouldn't have been right."

"I know, which is why I told him."

"Well, like I said, we're fine," Andy said stiffly, feeling uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it."

"By the way, you should try drinking more water," Andy told her.

"Excuse me?"

"For the leg cramps. I read somewhere that they're a sign of dehydration, so drinking more water might help."

"Oh. Thanks," Marlo said uncertainly. "I'll give it a try."

The two women regarded each other in uncomfortable silence, neither seeming amenable to the direction the conversation had taken and the level of intimacy it suggested.

Clearing her throat, Marlo said, "So tell me about the inmate they're interviewing. I'm assuming it's related to the Stevenson burglary."

"It's a guy named Ivan Tatreau. He's the brother of a suspect we're trying to locate. We're hoping Ivan might be able to point us in the right direction."

"And you expect him to just roll over on his brother?" Marlo asked skeptically.

"We think he might. He's up for early release next month, and something like that would look good to the parole board."

"Kind of a long shot," Marlo noted. "Let's say the brother doesn't rat out his—"

"He already did," Dov interjected as he bounded into the Detective's office. "Or at least, he told Traci and Swarek about a friend of Emil's who might know where he is."

"Emil's the brother?" Marlo asked.

When Dov looked at Marlo curiously, Andy explained, "Marlo's been sent from above to help us out with the investigation. I was just filling her in."

"Great. We could use another body on the case," Dov offered automatically and with a sincerity that almost made Andy want to punch him. He was supposed to be her friend, after all, and even if she didn't quite hate Marlo as much as she had an hour ago, that didn't mean she wanted to put out a welcome mat for her.

"Swarek and Traci want us to go over and talk to the friend," Dov said easily. "We need to find out if he's seen Emil or knows where he might be."

Andy began gathering up the file in front of her. "I'm ready if you are."

"Who's the friend?" Marlo asked.

"A guy named Doug O'Donnell. Apparently, they work out together and when Emil's on the outs with his fiancée—which is most of the time—he crashes at O'Donnell's place. Hey, why don't you come with us, Marlo?"

"Maybe she should stay here and review the file," Andy suggested.

"Yeah, I'm not supposed to be out on the street anyway, Epstein."

"Come on," Dov insisted. "You can give us your take on the guy. Help us get a read on whether he's telling the truth about what he knows. It would be off the books . . . ."

"Off the books, huh?" Marlo remarked with a smirk, surprising Andy with how easily she was allowing herself to be convinced. Then again, it was an opportunity to get away from her desk, and Andy knew that Marlo hated being tied to the office.

"Definitely," he agreed. "Andy, you're okay if Marlo comes with us, right?"

" _Sure_. If you hadn't beat me to it, I would've suggested it myself," she responded tightly.

"I'll meet you two in the parking lot," Marlo said as she pushed herself up from the chair and headed toward the door. "I need to stop by the bathroom before we go."

As soon as Marlo was gone, Andy whipped around to face Dov. "What was _that_?"

"What?" he asked innocently. "I thought we could use her help."

"Dov, you know this is a difficult situation. She's carrying my boyfriend's baby."

"You're going to have to be around her sooner or later, you know."

Andy rolled her eyes as she grabbed the file and headed for the door. "Later. I prefer much later."

"I was just trying to help," Dov offered, followed her down the stairs. "You're not mad, are you?"

"No, not at all," Andy said flatly. "And don't even bother asking . . . you're riding in the backseat."

* * *

"So you haven't seen or heard from Emil for more than a week?" Andy asked dubiously. Doug O'Donnell was sprawled out on the couch in front of them. One leg was slung over the other and his arms were propped up on the back of the couch with a casualness that was . . . interesting. _He's too relaxed_ , Andy thought. _Far too at ease for a guy with three cops standing in his living room. He knows something he's not telling us._

"Yeah," Marlo added. "It seems strange that he wouldn't have stopped by at some point. You two are close, right?"

"Look, Emil's a friend. I don't ask him to check in with me on a daily basis, though. If he's got something going on, I might not hear from him for a few weeks. It's not unusual. The guy's a free spirit."

Dov examined his notes and asked, "Well, do you know where he was last Wednesday night around midnight?"

"Yeah. Sure. I heard he was breaking into someone's house," O'Donnell said with a sly grin, adding a touch of affected laughter that didn't sit well with Andy. _Something isn't right_ , she told herself.

"Listen," Marlo said abruptly, and instantly O'Donnell's eyes hardened at the ice in her tone. "This is a police investigation. We ask you questions and you answer them. That's the way this works."

"No, okay?" he responded with a sullen edge. "I don't know where he was. I haven't seen him."

As Marlo and Dov continued talking to O'Donnell, Andy made an unobtrusive sweep of his apartment, dipping into what she assumed was the kitchen. With a pile of dirty laundry on the table and an assortment of empty beer cans littering the counter, it was difficult to tell what purpose the room actually served. In the sink, dirty dishes had been tossed into a haphazard heap, and Andy was fairly certain that the floor hadn't seen the business end of a mop for at least a decade. _Two decades_ , she corrected herself, as she lifted her shoe out of a sticky blob of—something.

Out in the living room, she heard Marlo's voice growing impatient, and she tuned into what was being said. "That's a nice vase you have there, Mr. O'Donnell."

"You think so? It belonged to my grandmother," O'Donnell offered.

She heard the rustle of some papers and then Dov asked, "Really? Does your grandmother live at the Stevenson's house? Because that looks an awful lot like one of the items reported stolen from there last week."

Andy took three quick steps toward the doorway to the living room but arrested her movement as soon as she saw the scene that had unfolded in the other room. In an instant, her gun was pointed at O'Donnell.

"Don't move," O'Donnell yelled in her direction. He had his own gun out, and it was pointed directly at Dov. To Dov's left, Marlo stood quietly, unarmed and rigid.

When Dov eased his right hand toward his belt, O'Donnell sneered. "You don't wanna do that, man."

"O'Donnell, put down the gun," Andy warned him.

"Sure," he laughed. "Let me just turn it over to you right now."

"You're not creating a good situation for yourself," she said through gritted teeth.

"In about three seconds, I'm walking out of here," he responded coolly. "How is that not a good situation? Seems pretty ideal to me."

That was when she saw it. O'Donnell's finger twitched on the trigger. She knew Marlo must have seen it, too, because her frame stiffened. The guy wasn't as relaxed as he seemed.

When Dov eased his hand toward his belt once again, O'Donnell barked, "I said _don't_ move."

"Take it easy," Dov said calmly. "No one's moving."

Then, someone did move and after that, the situation escalated so fast that Andy could barely keep track of what was happening. Like a high-speed assembly line, as quickly as the details registered in her mind, they were replaced with new ones. _Rapid movement to the left. Marlo, no! A struggle. Marlo's hand on the gun. O'Donnell's hands on the gun. One gunshot. A second gunshot. Two bodies on the ground._

" _Marlo!_ " Andy yelled, rushing across the room. "Dov, she's been shot."

* * *

"McNally." Marlo's voice was raspy and practically inaudible—so muffled that Andy had to lean forward to hear her. Marlo raised her head off of the wood floor and looked down at her chest. "McNally," she said again, this time more insistent as her head fell back to the floor.

Andy leaned in closer and gripped Marlo's hand. "Marlo, try not to talk. Dov's already called for help. The ambulance is on its way."

"McNally, I need you to promise me . . . ." Marlo coughed and the effort seemed to cause her a great deal of pain. "Make sure they deliver the baby. He needs to have a chance to live even if I don't. I need you to make sure that happens."

"Marlo, don't say that. I hear the sirens," Andy said desperately, wishing it were true. Other than a few grunts from O'Donnell, who lay behind them on the ground, she heard nothing. "We're going to get you to a hospital, and you'll both be fine."

"McNally," Marlo groaned. Then, her voice became more forceful as she said, " _Promise me_."

"Yes. I promise," Andy said tearfully. "But you really need to just hang in there. The medics are on their way. _Please_ , Marlo."

"You know," Marlo whispered, "kids hate me. I've never been good with them. Kind of ironic, isn't it?"

"Marlo, you're going to be a great Mom," Andy insisted. She gripped Marlo's hand tightly, feeling the strength slowly draining from the other woman's fingertips as her eyes slipped closed.

* * *

Dov and Andy stood off to the side as the paramedics lifted Marlo's stretcher into the ambulance. As soon as they had her inside, the male paramedic began hooking her up to a cardiac monitor. The female paramedic—Betty, according to her name tag—looked down at them and asked, "Can one of you come with us? We need a medical history."

Dov nudged Andy. "You go."

" _Me_? Dov, you should go."

"Andy, it has to be you. IA is going to want to talk to me about shooting O'Donnell. Besides, you know way more about her medical history than I do."

"Fine. I'll go." Andy climbed up into the ambulance and barely had time to take a seat before the doors were slammed shut and the vehicle started moving.

With some relief, she looked over at the monitor and saw that Marlo's heart was still beating. Betty hovered over Marlo, examining her with a practiced efficiency. In a clipped voice, she said, "Pupils are unresponsive." Glancing over at Andy, she asked, "How long has she been unconscious?"

"Maybe five minutes. She was still breathing, though," Andy explained, thinking of every detail she might be able to offer from the scene. "And I felt a pulse. That's good, isn't it?"

"We don't know yet. We're doing our best to get a handle on the situation." Betty picked up her radio and began firing off information. "We've got a pregnant female p.o. GSW to the chest. Lost a lot of blood. We're going to need an OB team ready to go when we get there." Looking at Andy again, she asked, "How far along is she?"

"Twenty-eight weeks," Andy answered automatically.

"Do you know if it's been a routine pregnancy?"

"Um," she began slowly, thinking back to Sam's reports from Marlo after each doctor's appointment. Then, noting the impatient looks from Betty and her partner, she stammered, "Yes. Her pregancy's been uneventful. As of the last ultrasound, the baby was measuring well and seemed healthy. She had a doctor's appointment three weeks ago, and the heartbeat was strong. As far as I know, there weren't any complications, and they've both been doing well."

"Do you know who her OB is?"

"Dr. Pomeroy."

Betty picked up her radio again and recited the information Andy had just provided. "Is she a close friend or relative of yours?"

"No. Neither," Andy said slowly. "It's complicated . . . ."

"Do you know anything about Officer Cruz's medical history aside from the pregnancy? Does she have any allergies or underlying conditions we should be aware of?"

"I don't know," Andy said sadly. "She's taking some mental health meds, and she's under the care of a psychiatrist, but as far as allergies, I really don't know."

"That's okay," Betty assured her.

"She's going to be okay, isn't she?" Andy asked, not encouraged by the grim looks passing between the paramedics. "She has to live. She's having a baby."

"We're doing the best we can," the male paramedic mumbled. No sooner had the words left his mouth than an alarm began screeching on the heart monitor and the small peaks dissolved into one continuous flat line. "Heart stopped," he announced with a sense of urgency as he initiated chest compressions and began charging the defibrillator.

Andy ran her hands through her hair roughly, feeling the tears burning beneath her eyelids. "You have to save her," she whispered.

"We're doing our best," Betty said.

"What about the baby?" Andy demanded suddenly. "If her heart's stopped, is the baby okay?"

"We don't know," Betty explained as she pulled out a ventilator bag. Securing it over Marlo's mouth and nose, she began pumping a steady rhythm.

"If she doesn't make it, can the baby be delivered? That was the last thing she said to me before she lost consciousness," Andy said anxiously. "She wanted her baby to be delivered."

"It's possible, and we'll certainly do all we can. They'll have a team ready when we get to the hospital."

Andy sank back against the wall of the ambulance. Through the back windows she could see that they were still two minutes out. As the paramedics hovered quietly over Marlo, forcing her lungs to take in air while they continued trying to revive her, an unnatural calmness filled the ambulance. A mechanical unreality descended upon them as the line between life and death blurred. Having been reduced to the role of observer, Andy dropped her head backwards and closed her eyes.

The minutes that followed were two of the longest and darkest of her life. She'd never particularly cared for Marlo, but now, as she watched her life slipping away, Andy found that she fervently wanted one thing. She wanted Marlo to live. She wanted Sam's baby to live. She didn't care how messed up their situation was. She only wanted everything to go back to the way it had been that morning.

Not until the ambulance took the sharp turn into the hospital driveway did the atmosphere change. Previously muted and subdued, the energy became almost frenetic as the paramedics prepared for Marlo's exit from the ambulance. Suddenly, the doors were flung open, and the seal was officially broken. Within seconds, Marlo was swept away, leaving Andy behind in the ambulance feeling powerless and insignificant.

* * *

In front of him, the glass doors parted and Sam rushed through them. His heart was thundering against the walls of his chest as he did a quick scan of the lobby and kept moving.

 _Find McNally. Find McNally. Find McNally._ Like a cadence driving him forward, the singular thought consumed Sam as he hurried toward the waiting area where he knew she'd be. Her call had been brief, and although she was clearly doing her best to disguise it, he detected the unmistakable tremor that told him she was scared.

A long, polished hallway opened into a large room with rows of seats that were, at that moment, mostly empty. Immediately, he spotted Andy across the room. She was alone, hunched forward with her head in her hands. Several long strides had him there in front of her. When he reached forward and touched her shoulder, Andy's head sprang up immediately. "I thought you were the doctor," she breathed out, dropping back against the chair.

"How's she doing?" he asked. It had only been fifteen minutes since he'd taken Andy's call and although he'd gathered that things weren't going well, she hadn't had a lot of answers for him at the time. Now, the tear stains on her face told him what she hadn't said yet.

"Sam," she said weakly, making an obvious attempt to steady the quaking in her voice. "Marlo didn't make it. They're trying to save the baby."

As if gravity had suddenly become his most powerful adversary, Sam dropped down into the chair beside hers. He felt Andy's hand on his back and then she leaned into him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing her face against his shoulder. Circling his arms around her, he pulled her up against him, feeling raw and confused. This wasn't a situation in which he'd ever expected to find himself and yet, it was still horrifyingly painful.

Marlo was dead, and the baby—a baby he had hardly wanted—might also be dead. Had he wished for this to happen? The thought ripped through him with the ferocity of a bullet.

No sooner had that thought occurred to him than Andy echoed the same sentiment. "Sam, did we make this happen?"

"I doubt we're that powerful," he murmured.

She drew back, and he could see that her eyes were searching his for reassurance. "It's hard not to think it, though, when I spent so much time wishing it had never happened—hoping we could be like we were before."

"I did, too," he told her, "but Andy, you didn't do this."

"I don't want this baby to die," she said in a plaintive tone.

"Neither do I," he admitted. Suddenly, he found himself wishing for something that he'd been dreading twenty-four hours before.

Twenty minutes passed with that sort of tense solitude hanging around them, not knowing what news they were waiting to hear. No matter what, it could never be good news. At best, they were waiting for news that the doctors had delivered a motherless child.

Sam knew when Marlo's doctor walked through the door into the waiting area because Andy sat upright, and she clasped his hand tightly in hers. As the doctor approached them, he removed his surgical cap with a weary hand, revealing a head of graying hair.

"The surgery went as well as can be expected," he said to Andy. "We were able to deliver the baby, and they've taken him up to the NICU."

"He's okay?" Sam asked hoarsely.

"This is Sam," Andy interjected hastily. "He's, um . . . . He's the baby's father."

Thankfully, if the doctor found the situation confusing, he didn't comment and seemed to accept it for what it was. Given that Sam and Andy probably looked like a couple, he assumed the doctor had ascertained that theirs was a complicated situation.

"Then, congratulations. You have a son," the doctor said to Sam, clearly employing more reserve than he might have used in different circumstances.

"A son," Sam repeated. "Then he's okay?"

"For now, yes. We're cautiously optimistic. A baby born at twenty-eight weeks has a good chance of survival outside the womb. You should be able to see him within the hour."

"Thank you," Sam said, feeling the unlikely pairing of relief and sadness all at once.

"Marlo's sister should be here soon," Andy told the doctor. "One of our officers went to get her. She's the next of kin."

"If you'll tell one of the nurses when she arrives, I'll come out and speak to her. In the meantime," he said, shifting his attention to Sam, "I'll ask the NICU nurses to come down and get you shortly."

When he was alone with Andy again, Sam took a long, slow breath. "What happens now?"

"When he's ready, you take him home and raise him."

"I don't even know how to begin." Feeling the overwhelming weight of his new responsibility, he asked, "What do I know about being a Dad?"

"Probably as much as most people do when they become parents for the first time."

"But look at my father. He wasn't even close to being a model parent, and that's what I have for a reference."

"Sam, you'll be great. It doesn't matter that you have a lousy father."

"What makes you so sure?"

"First, because you're a good person. And second—well, maybe I should've said this one first—because I'll be there to help."

He liked hearing her say that. It felt as good as it sounded, because he was going to need her more than he'd ever thought he would. "I'm glad you're here, McNally."

"Me, too."

"Are you really ready for this?"

"I'm as ready as you are," she assured him, "which may not be a lot, but at this point, I don't think we have much of a choice."

'It won't be easy," he warned her.

"It doesn't matter. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

As Andy rounded the corner, she saw Sam standing in front of the wide window at the end of a short hallway. His back was to her, but as she approached, he looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Hey," he said, and although he sounded exhausted, there was a warm familiarity in his voice that told her he was glad she was there.

"Hi. How was your day?"

"It was okay. The doctor says he might be able to come home in a few weeks."

"Sam, that's great," she said with confidence, knowing he needed to hear the certainty in her voice.

Andy slid in beside him at the window, placing her open palm against the glass. Smiling at the second baby from the left, she asked, "How long has he been asleep?"

"Not long. I was giving him a bottle and he passed out in my arms." As he spoke, he kept his eyes trained on the row of NICU babies behind the glass. "Do you think he looks like me?" he asked suddenly.

"Sam, the test results were conclusive. He's yours."

"I know," he said simply. "I just thought he'd look more like me. You know, maybe have my chin or my nose . . . ."

"He's only six weeks old. It's too soon to know whose chin or whose nose he'll have. Right now, he just looks like a newborn."

"I know," he sighed, narrowing his eyes as he leaned toward the glass. "To be honest, he looks a lot like the baby next to him."

"He kind of does," she agreed. "I actually think he has _her_ nose." Andy nudged him in the side. When he looked at her, she gave him a supportive smile.

"How was work?" he asked.

"Not too bad. Marlo's sister stopped by the station this morning. She offered to help out any time we need an extra hand." She hesitated, not knowing how he'd receive the rest of the information she needed to relay to him. "She also left a picture of Marlo and asked if maybe it could go in his bedroom."

Sam eyed her carefully. "Sorry about that."

Wanting to reassure him, she reached over and squeezed his hand. Threading her fingers through his, she said, "Don't be sorry. Marlo was his mother. He needs to know her."

"Well, as of right now, he doesn't even have a bedroom, so there's nowhere to put it anyway. He's coming home soon, and we don't have anything he's going to need."

"We will." With her free hand, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"What's that?" he asked suspiciously, taking it from her and flipping it open.

"It's a list of things a newborn needs."

"How do you know about all of this stuff?"

She shrugged. "I've done a fair amount of babysitting, and I've suffered through enough baby showers to be able to put together a fairly comprehensive list."

"McNally, you've been holding out on me." Scanning the list, he arched an eyebrow at her. "So . . . a Diaper Genie . . . I'm guessing that's the person you summon whenever a diaper needs changing."

"Not exactly," she laughed, dropping his hand and pushing him toward the nursery door. "Why don't you go in and tell him good night before we go? Then, we can stop by that baby store that's on the way home."

"Aren't you coming?" he asked, looking back at her from the nursery door.

"I think I'll stay out here . . . you know, let you have your moment."

"McNally, get in here now," he said gruffly, reaching back and grabbing her hand as he tugged her into the nursery behind him.


End file.
